Consider for a moment that an asteroid is about to strike the earth. Think about it for a second. Has it been a second? Do you have it in mind? Here, let me help: It’s twice the size of the moon and really rocky looking. Looks like it would hurt if you punched it. Make your knuckles bleed, even. Okay, you’ve fully considered this asteroid? Now, understand that it’s going to wallop our planet in two days. We can see it coming, a bright, growing ball of fire, visible day and night, headed right for us. Dogs howl, cats mewl, grandma calmly asserts that Judgment Day is nigh. Now imagine that we’re told that all we have to do to avert calamity (and judgment!) is BLOW–as hard as we can, all of us, all six billion Earth inhabitants, at the same time.

Don’t you think we’d organize somehow, across the globe immediately to make sure that every last one of us went PUFFFFFFF! or WHOOOF! or however people blow in foreign lands, at the given time? Damned straight we would. We’d have billions of people, from the Congo to Iceland, from Wichita to Istanbul, puffing like mad to blow that asteroid off course.

I know it’s silly to talk about Read the rest of this entry »

Not sure what to say about this for fear of being labeled as a pro-eugenics freak, but, well, here’s a sample from the article which quotes Evolutionary theorist Oliver Curry:

“…in the nearer future, humans will evolve in 1,000 years into giants between 6ft and 7ft tall, he predicts, while life-spans will have extended to 120 years, Dr Curry claims.

Physical appearance, driven by indicators of health, youth and fertility, will improve, he says, while men will exhibit symmetrical facial features, look athletic, and have squarer jaws, deeper voices and bigger penises.

Women, on the other hand, will develop lighter, smooth, hairless skin, large clear eyes, pert breasts, glossy hair, and even features, he adds. Racial differences will be ironed out by interbreeding, producing a uniform race of coffee-coloured people.”

Bigger penises! Pert breasts! I need me a time machine! Oh, wait. . .then I’d feel awfully inferior. Guess I’d better stick to my own time where I’m anatomically unremarkable.

I think Curry left out the part about the third species, the surviving one. The one that becomes greatly reduced in size and longevity, to match the absolute scarcity of resources on a scalding planet.

Here’s the rest of the short article.

A sad but amazing idea, this. From the site:

Ghost Bikes are small and somber memorials for bicyclists who are killed or hit on the street. A bicycle is painted all white and locked to a street sign near the crash site, accompanied by a small plaque. They serve as reminders of the tragedy that took place on an otherwise anonymous street corner, and as quiet statements in support of cyclists’ right to safe travel.

The first ghost bikes were created in St. Louis, Missouri in 2003, and they have since appeared in at least 30 cities throughout the world. For those who create and install the memorials, the death of a fellow bicyclist hits home. We all travel the same unsafe streets and face the same risks; it could just as easily be any one of us. Each time we say we hope to never have to do it again — but we remain committed to making these memorials as long as they are needed.

Visit GHOSTBIKES.org.

I hopped there from Just Seeds, an art cooperative you don’t want to miss.

A happy day, indeed, when I found that one of my favorite bloggers has not disappeared, but instead has simply relocated. Judith Lewis, writer for the LA Weekly and LA times, has moved her riveting blog to Little Green Animals. Bookmark it, yo. Reading her latest post this morning on Obama and Clinton, I got a bit fired up and left a long-winded comment:

There’s a significant part of me, the one that was raised by Democrat parents, the one that doesn’t want to really THINK about the election, that wants to knee-jerk hand my election to Anyone But Bush’s Party, that wants to clap my hands over my ears and eyes and propel me via a tra-la-la-ing skip-step to Political Fantasy Land. From where I sit (high above it all in a well-stocked and fortified tree house), I can see millions of my fellow liberals happily cavorting about inside Fantasy Land, all blindfolded, all perfectly fitted with information-cancelling iPods. It looks like a fun place, a place where I would no doubt bump into many of the pleasantly pacified. Yet, the contrarian in me, that evil bastard who insists that I pay attention, that I waste my time noting the disconnects between promises, intention and past actions, steers me clear. Outside the gates, I find a wasteland populated by fact-finders, do-gooders, humanitarians, environmentalists, Constitutionalists, and the like. The disenfranchised, basically. And the real bitch of it is, that the Presidential candidates, including Obama and Clinton, don’t dare step outside the theme park. Our numbers and our issues play no part in their crusades. Their captive audience makes no real demands, nor does it provide defined expectations. “CHANGE!” they shout in unison, as Fantasy Land employees hoist cue cards into the air. “ETHICAL STEWARDSHIP OF OUR RESOURCES! RESTORE THE TRICAMERAL BALANCE OF POWERS! CURB THY EXPANSIONISITIC DESIRES! END ELECTORAL FRAUD!” we scream, clambering upon each other’s shoulders in the vain hope that one loud tongue will find itself elevated above the wall. Alas, it’s a one-syllable system. Work. Shop. Fight. Change. In such a setting, one would think ‘Peace’ would have a chance. But peace is tantamount to rest and if we dare take a break from this grand effort of eating our own tail (lower the blindfold for a moment–that isn’t beef you’re eating, it’s your children), the collective gag reflex would shatter the iPods and disrobe our eyes. In the resultant wash of blinding sunlight the voices outside the wall would be heard and perhaps there would be a grand awakening and uniting of forces. At last The Revolution! as millions jump turnstiles and swap fantasy for reality. More likely, however, the freed Democrat masses, used to being taken for granted by their masters and frightened by the new need to muster probing thoughts, would hastily refasten the blinders and jab credit cards skywards toward Jobs the Beneficent Provider.

This isn’t to say that I look upon Democrats with utter disdain. No, I look upon the majority of them as kind-hearted and simple Not a bellwether in the bunch, they’re led about by wolves in sheeps clothing. The humanity in them is still there, but it’s very, very difficult to get them to see it. The moment they look upon their true reflection in the water trough, their knees buckle and they huddle ever closer together, squeezing out those bipeds who persist in wandering among them, attempting to teach them the trick of standing on their hind legs and acting like humans.

That sound I hear above the din of bleating animals? It’s the endless buzz of knife upon grindstone.

With Tom Cruise so very in the news, it’s time people started to read up a bit on the history of Scientology. As your friend and trusted adviser, I’ve scoured the interweb for the finest “primer” available.

HERE IT IS.

Straight from the New York Times’ archives. Fortunately, the article escaped from the modern day “Operation Snow White,” Scientology’s well-documented effort to remove all critical mention of itself from all global media.

“Scientology’s Puzzling Journey from Tax Rebel to Tax Exempt,” is a fascinating read about, well, a bunch of folks who believe they have ‘power’ and insight. Follow it up with the above link to Snow White, and you’re off to the races.

Now, the fact that they believe that humans were trapped on earth 75 million years ago in chunks of ice, banished by Xenu, ruler of the Galactic Federation (I shit you not) - that doesn’t bother me at all. It’s just as realistic as the other creation myths (check out Mormon founder Smith’s ‘magic crystals’ story), and who knows, it could be true. No, I’m not a nutjob, I’m just saying we can’t dismiss out of hand what we don’t know, no matter how ‘crazy’ it seems. Could be we all live in a bowl of Jello, and are bound any moment for Charlton Heston’s diseased bowels. Could be. No, my questions about Scientology have to do with the organization’s massive amount of criminal deception.

Just because they want to be recognized as a Church doesn’t mean they have to act like one.

If I disappear…ask Tom Cruise about my whereabouts. Heh.

Ah, the B.A.T. The Back Alley Tabernacle. It’s a place on the interweb where only the glorious gather. I’ve been asked to join the B.A.T. and I have to tell you, it’s made my decade, this inclusion among the illuminated. Just yesterday my membership package arrived. Inside, the B.A.T. beltbuckle (gives you a 5% discount at all Agent Provacateur and Ace Hardware locations), the assorted membership material, and best of all - the secret handshake.

As a B.A.T. agent, I’m expected to contribute articles from time to time. My first, where I gush thank yous to Charlton Heston (”How Charlton Heston Snapped Me Back into Circle Jerk 2008″ IS HERE.

My latest is below.

“An Evening with Super Smart and Engaging Paul Saffo”

So I went to a lecture last night in San Francisco put on by Stewart Brand’s Long Now Foundation. The featured speaker was the much-celebrated futurist Paul Saffo. A Harvard teacher, Saffo writes for Foreign Policy, The Washington Post, ABCNews.com, and in the near future, The Back Alley Tabernacle. Check him out. He’s incredible. Watching him talk and forecast, one can practically hear his brain whirring and clicking. It felt like being in the college classroom I dreamed about but never experienced. The one where everyone in the room is smart, beautiful and motivated. The one where you leave class feeling hopeful about the future instead of depressed.I also left inspired to make some predictions of my own about life in the U.S.. Here they are:

1. Roomba robot vacuum cleaner owners will finally realize they were/are lazy fucktards for spending hundreds of dollars trying to avoid a ten-minute chore. By the end of 2009, Roombas will be common yard sale items, shoved in milk crates next to singing plastic trout and copies of The DaVinci Code.

2. Before 2010, there will be a mobile phone backlash among 15-25 year olds. Realizing owning phones only makes them trackable conformists in a too-networked society, they will rally at bonfires to burn their iPhones and celebrate their freedom. Dozens will perish inhaling heavy metal fumes. The resulting use of protective dust masks will spawn a fashion revolution that will pave the way for the adoption of Muslim hijabs. As a result of this apparent mass conversion to the words of The Prophet, tensions between the West and Muslim nations will decrease significantly.

3. Hillary Clinton will CONTINUED AT B.A.T….

Today is a red-letter day in Tod Brilliant land. The world may be rushing madly toward oblivion, but my first political piece has been posted on eleven-time Webby-winning, Nobel-nominated, New York Times-featured, Brad Pitt-supported, Cesar Chavez-founded website BACK ALLEY TABERNACLE.

Here’s a teaser of “How Charlton Heston Snapped Me Back into Circle Jerk ‘08″:

This past weekend, my honeybaby lovedoodle and I were poking around in a junk shop on the NorCal coast when I stumbled across something of a holy relic: A VHS copy of “Planet of the Apes.” No, not the recent retread by the overrated (it kills me to say that, but I have to finally admit the truth) Tim Burton. No, the real movie; the 1968 classic starring the Omega man himself, Charlton Heston. At the time of purchase, I had no idea the cinematic powerhouse was to shortly shatter a vow of willful ignorance I had maintained with great diligence for much of the year.

Let me explain. About eight months ago, I swore off all media. This is a big deal for me, as I’ve been known to those who can stand my presence as “Mr. Read Everything in the World about Current Events and Politics” for the better part of two decades. Yet, I realized that with an election cycle upon us, there’s no better time to shut it down. Eighteen months of empty promises and bullshit campaigning I thought I could do without. Until, that is, Heston the lost and ever virile astronaut (as Heston plays only Heston, character names are trivial formality) reminded me of my duties as an American citizen. By the time Chuck planted Old Glory in the soil of the alien world, I was itching to get my hands on a Gallup poll, any Gallup poll.

I never knew that Planet of the Apes was a prophetic film, but behold (READ THE STUNNING CONCLUSION AT B.A.T.)

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See this? Do you really? It’s called a big smile on my face. I’ve finally arrived!

To celebrate, the Police have offered up this obvious gem: “Omega Man.” [audio:omega man.mp3]

It’s the holiday season, right? I can bend my fairly rigid “thou shalt not indulge overly much on nonessentials” rule, right? Okay, you’re right. I really shouldn’t. We are, after all, consuming the earth right out from beneath, above and around us.

However.

However, I’m a bit cold. I don’t have a good warm jacket. Well, I didn’t until last week when I found this amazing creation from Rag & Bone at Arboretum in Healdsburg. At over $500, it’s not Made in China cheap. In fact, it isn’t made in China. It’s handmade in New York state by a very unique company (check this Men’s Vogue article for info on how Rag & Bone resurrected a North Carolina factory town). While the ingredients aren’t organic, the fact that they weren’t shipped from India to be assembled in China to be flown to the USA for consumption means a lot to me.

So, the question is: Is it better to have an organic product or one that meets ethical standards? That is, do I buy the horribly made Same Underneath (stay away from this company - they even buy cheap zippers, a BIG sign that quality is third rate at best) coat that is made from organic cotton, but assembled in China before being flown back to the USA, racking up massive aviation fuel demerits in the process … or do I pick up the coat made by a company who believes in stimulating local economies, paying more than fair wages and creating clothing that will last for years, obviating the need for more consumption down the road?

While you ponder this, I’ll talk a bit more about my new favorite thing. A classic hunting jacket, it has ‘bird’ pockets in front and back, meaning it can carry a whole lot of extra items in a very discrete fashion. No, I’m not carrying drugs or guns, but a big pet peeve of mine is how many coat pockets BULGE rather unsexily when the smallest items are inserted - not so with this baby. Handmade, expertly stitched, beautifully lined . . . I’ll have to take some pictures to show you guys what you’re missing.

Head to Arboretum (or just call them?) to grab this beauty. I noticed they had one left (size 40?). Just north of San Francisco, this shop is far and away the most extensive ‘ethical’ and/or ‘eco’ fashion boutique I’ve come across anywhere in the States.

Yes, that’s me in the picture above, standing in front of a Helen Garber painting (genius painter, tip-top person). As I’m freshly shaven (I only shave every two weeks or so as this cuts down on razor use and we all know how mining for razor metals depletes the earth, right? See THIS POST for more info on my shaving obsession.), I did my best in photoshop to simulate some growth. Some of you may notice the doctoring, likely only those of you who work with photo manipulation professionally.

No flashy graphics (no graphics at all, actually). No naked women. And yet, somehow I find blog.publicroutes.com to be my overwhelming choice for Blog o’ the Month. Used to be I needed tits and ass to get me excited. These days I favor juicy tidbits about card-swipe turnstiles and solar-powered double decker buses.

CHECK IT OUT.

FYI, six of my past seven Blogs o the Month have ended up being featured in either Time, Newsweek or Cricket magazine. The once exception? The Hezbollah Pork Farming tips blog which I must confess was an odd choice (it was the muddy naked girls that hooked me).

With the writer’s strike in full swing, I’m benefiting handsomely. My treatment for a new comedy, “Whose Mime is it Anyway?” has been picked up by a major (I can’t tell you which) network. Doesn’t hurt that I’ve already written the pilot and first eight episodes. Enough to stretch into most of a season. With ‘24′ postponed (Kiefer used to be my old body double, so I’m really happy to see him finally get his due), I’m thinking a perfect slot has opened up.

The basic concept is this: World-famous mimes Shields and Yarnell (click this link to jog your memory) are traveling with their four year-old son. Looking to found a Marcel Marceau museum in inner-city Chicago, they lose track of young Preston during a botched convenience store holdup. Shields saves the day by miming himself into a badass gunslinger, but in the commotion young Preston wanders off……and smack into the home of the Dayton Family. Hilarity ensues when the young white mime tries to enlist the help of the urban black family. . .WITHOUT WORDS!! Get it? He’s a mime! He can’t talk! HARHARHARHAHAHA! Oh my god, that’s so darned funny! Isn’t it?

Thinking he’s a racially-insensitive deaf mute with a bad habit for flashing offensive gang signs, the Daytons adopt Preston into their family. Each laugh-track filled episode follows Preston, in full white face makeup, and the Daytons as they try to figure out “WHOSE MIME IS IT ANYWAY???????”

Yeah, I know. It’s fucking genius. And the reason I’m walking funny? My pockets are loaded with cash from FO. . .oh wait, I can’t tell you. Just stay tuned.